


What It Takes to Fly

by AnonEhouse



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Griffon Rider, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:17:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John really wants to fly. Rodney can help him out with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Takes to Fly

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

John Sheppard wanted to fly.

He'd wangled an in by liberal applications of sulks, smirks and puppy-dog eyes on his good friend Aiden. Aiden's remaining eye (he'd given one to earn the friendship of the giant ravens) had worn an amused look when he handed John the pass. 

"He'll snap at you, but probably not take your head off."

"Probably?" John looked at Aiden with misgivings. "I thought they were tame."

"Their keeper isn't!" Aiden grinned and walked off, half-hidden under the shrouding wings of the raven that rode his shoulder. The raven twisted his head back to give John a knowing look and a hoarse caw that sounded amused.

John shook his head because the ravens knew the future, and they were bloodthirsty little buggers so what amused one of them was probably not fun for him, but, hey, _flying_. He was so not going to miss his chance.

He showed up on time, but the keeper was already at the gate of his compound, shifting from foot to foot in an impatient sort of bounce that made it look as if he could take flight himself, despite his solid body and wide shoulders. He was dressed entirely in sky-blue, a lighter shade than his bird-bright eyes, which John thought was a bit vain for a guy, but hey, _flying_ , the guy could wear rainbow polka-dots, whatever. The guy waved both hands in a fluttery way at John's clothes and scowled. "Black? I don't know about this. Ronon likes Black Angus cattle."

"Hey! I don't look like a cow," John protested, looking down at his best battle-dress black uniform. He'd even shined his boots and _tied the laces_ on them.

The man examined him more closely. "Yeah, right. You're too skinny, I don't think you'd really tempt him..." He glanced at the pass he'd snatched from John. "Sheppard? John? Which is it? I don't want to confuse them with two names."

Maybe 'Sheppard' would remind Ronon how sheep taste. "John, call me John." John waited, eyebrows raised in interrogation.

After a long, puzzled stare, the man snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah, I'm Meredith Rodney McKay, Ph.D, Ph.D, dual doctorates in Pysiks and Hexgeneering. Both of which turned out to be surprisingly applicable to the war effort. You can call me Rodney." He bounced, smugly John would say, if a bounce could be called smug. "Come on, chop chop, time's a wasting." And then he turned and moved again with surprising speed. A lot of that bulk had to be muscle, John decided as he caught up to his guide, who kept turning his head and talking, nearly smashing into various trees, most of which bore amazingly large claw marks. Out of self-interest, John snagged Rodney's arm and guided him. Rodney didn't seem to notice one way or the other. The man was weird.

"Ok, here, this is the Avialeodrome," Rodney said as he came to a sudden halt in front of a large wooden building, rather like an outsized barn with huge windows.

"Huh, kinda a long name." 

"And what would you call it?" Rodney snapped as he pulled open the huge double-doors, muscles in his back moving under the blue silk of his shirt. 

"A Griffarm?"

"Please!" Rodney stepped into the building. "You're not allowed to name anything." He picked up something brown and dry from a sack hanging near the door and handed it to John. "Give this to Ronon." He pointed.

John followed Rodney's finger to the massive bronze figure that was gazing at them with a disconcertingly feral stare, the entire body visibly tensed to pounce. But, hey, _flying._ John stepped up to the griffon and held out the jerky. "Hey, Ronon, my name's John. Pleased to meet ya."

Ronon growled deep in his chest before extending his beak to snatch the meat and gulp it down. Rodney made a surprised noise from behind John. John glanced back. "What?"

"He must really like you, he didn't take even one finger." Rodney grinned.

"Hey!" John was secretly pleased about that, too. "I thought you tamed them."

"I train them for war, John. Harpies don't fool around." Rodney picked up something that looked like a long-handled olive fork and passed it between the feathers on Ronon's neck, scratching the skin beneath until the griffon was purring and flexing his talons in the straw-covered floor.

Something pushed at John's back and he whirled to face a smaller, coppery griffon. "HEY!" John held his hands up. "Rodney, gimme another treat."

Rodney grinned and tossed John the sack. "That's Teyla, Ronon's mate. Don't let her size fool you. She kicks his ass regularly." Ronon grumbled and lashed his tail. "And you like it, so don't complain," Rodney told Ronon.

As John fed Teyla, his smile grew. "Look, she likes me. Do you think... maybe... I'd love to fly one of them."

Rodney stopped petting. "Mmmm... maybe... they only let me fly them. It's a matter of scent, you see." Rodney smiled at John, a full, bright smile that lit up his whole face, and huh, Rodney really wasn't bad-looking, once he wasn't scowling at you.

"So, you have some kinda Rodney-perfume I could wear?" John didn't really think so. 

"No." Rodney moved a step closer.

What the hell, _flying_. John pulled Rodney into his arms and kissed him.


End file.
